


The Party

by yuffiehighwind



Category: IT Crowd
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-01
Updated: 2007-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 16:40:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/587515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuffiehighwind/pseuds/yuffiehighwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of S1 Ep6 "Aunt Irma Visits," Roy, Jen and Moss attended a party that had unexpected results. Here's what really happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Party

**Author's Note:**

> I'm American, so apologies in advance. This fic uses a mashup of American and British spelling/dialects.
> 
> I always wondered what happened at that party for the episode to end the way it did, so this version of events poured out. The fanfic picks up just after the trio first enter the bar and Roy and Jen decide to drink together. As could be expected with a bunch of drunks, it's uncomfortably dubcon.

Closer than ever, the trio skipped into the nightclub, their arms linked like childhood playmates. 

Jen felt lighter than air, which was rare. After each day at her new job  _(No, not new anymore, was it?),_  cooped up in that dank basement with Moss and Roy, Jen would collapse into bed relieved to be home and too tired to even heat up leftovers.

She saw her old mates on the weekends, but they still saw each other every day, and even with her masterful grasp of clicking, double-clicking, and emailing, Jen couldn't keep up with their lives. 

Even worse, the boys were rubbing off on her. All the subtle female etiquette she'd mastered long ago had begun to evaporate, and Jen found herself blowing her nose too loudly, chewing with her mouth open, and snorting when she laughed. She didn't notice these changes, but her girlfriends did, not telling her, but wryly asking her how "her boys" were doing. Jen would shrug off their questions, not wanting to think about her colleagues more than she had to. If she could just spend each weekend forgetting their very existence, Jen could keep her sanity intact.

Jen missed girl nights out with a piercing nostalgia, so when Roy asked so kindly (and cautiously) what would cheer her up, her heart leapt. That's what she wanted, a proper movie night, with chocolate and slippers and makeovers! The boys obliged and Jen figured it was fair. They owed her for putting up with them day in and day out. When they seemed genuinely concerned about her, she felt even better. 

Moss, especially, was enjoying himself. The two of them ate ice cream and giggled together in their fluffy terry cloth robes, while Jen pretended she didn't notice Roy scowling every so often at the film. What a good friend, she thought, to fake it for so long! She hadn't known Roy possessed such willpower.

It was a Friday, and on typical Fridays, Moss and Roy retired to Roy's tiny flat to watch movies, play video games, get drunk, or all three. On Saturdays, Roy would sleep late and save the afternoon for laundry, go grocery shopping, and with any luck get a date with a girl with low self-esteem who liked getting ridiculously high and blowing him. Or he'd repeat the Friday night routine all over again, which was more likely.

On Sundays Roy wouldn't get up at all, but would wake from disturbing flashbacks to when he was thirteen, sitting in the pew at church, gazing up at Christ on the cross and wondering when he'd go blind. If on Saturday nights he  _had_  gotten lucky and hadn't managed to slip away from his latest fling, he woke up early on Sundays to carefully plan his escape. In between these activities, Roy could be found online. 

While Moss spent his free time taking apart and rebuilding computers, writing or rewriting code, the extent of Roy's daily technical practice (although he was in fact quite skilled in computer technology and had been since university) involved chat rooms with triple x's and women with salacious, misspelled pseudonyms.

The three of them had been looking forward to Mr. Reynholm's party, since Project Icarus had been draining and they felt entitled to a treat. Even Jen had put in effort; it had been her responsibility to educate Reynholm's staff on how to utilize the new system. Moss and Roy had designated her this task after repeatedly failing to translate the instructions into layman's terms, and following a rigorous session with homemade flashcards, Jen memorized the configuration steps each member of the company needed to enter. Pleasantly surprised at her display of actual skill, the boys toasted Jen with their mugs of Mountain Dew, as she took a modest bow, blushing.

But when it came time for Reynholm to actually acknowledge the trio in front of the company, Jen first experienced what the boys had resigned themselves to many years before.

No one thanked the IT department.

 

* * *

 

This was shaping up to be the worst night of Roy's life. He eagerly suggested they do something else, grasping desperately at any escape from this chick-flick nightmare. It was slow torture for him, though Moss was having a great time. But Moss wasn't a very good gauge of what entailed "a good time," Roy thought, although he was his best friend. This affection didn't blind him to when Moss was completely out of touch with reality, or keep Roy from smacking sense into him upside the head.

Roy's newest suggestion puzzled Jen. The boys had convinced her earlier that attending Mr. Reynholm's "Thank You" party would be, well, thankless. But here he was, arguing that if they didn't show up, it was a waste. It was  _their_  party, after all. 

No matter how much the lawyers, accountants, and other twats from the upper echelon of the company laughed and danced, full of themselves, Jen could be certain that her two coworkers were the real cornerstone of Reynholm's demented little empire. She agreed, after ten minutes of  _Beaches,_  to get dressed and head down to the club.

On the way, the men were even willing to laugh at themselves, purchasing three of the T-shirts (selling like hotcakes) of them photoshopped into old ladies. They skipped the rest of the way, riding high on a wave of pride and giddy joy. Passing a bachelorette party, they squealed hello, and finally entered the club floating on air, the girlish glee contagious.

But the trio, tightly joined (Jen like Dorothy on the way to the Emerald City), separated when Moss dropped the bomb that he'd asked his new girlfriend to meet them there. 

Uncharacteristically full of self-confidence, the manboy dashed into the crowd to greet the doctor. Betrayed, Roy crossed his arms, slouching moodily; Jen brushed a strand of hair out of her face. The two stood awkwardly by the door, losing sight of them in the crowd.

It had been a long week. Hell, it had been a long day. Gloominess descended upon the two in the absence of the man who somehow bonded them together with his naive joy. Jen noticed Roy's scowl and asked him what was wrong. He sighed and shrugged.

"Nothing. I just...I really need to get drunk."

Jen pursed her lips and looked out over the crowd, the music thumping in her ears.

"Yeah, I'd like to get drunk," she said, smooth as ice. Roy had a flicker of thought.

"We should get drunk together then."

Before he could even finish his sentence, she replied with an, "Okay, yeah." The gears started turning in Roy's head. It was worth a shot.

"We should get so drunk we don't know  _what's_  going on."

But instead of a rebuttal, swat on the arm, or comment of any kind, a steely look crossed her face that Roy couldn't read. 

"Alright," she said, walking purposefully towards the bar, which thanks to Reynholm was an open one. 

Roy smirked to himself and followed her. This night could be a good one after all.

 

* * *

 

 _Do you drink shots or pints?_  Considering how much she desperately craved to unwind, it was no surprise when Jen ordered shots. 

So much for starting slow. 

Then again, it was getting late, and they didn't know how long the club was open. They should have figured Mr. Reynholm had booked the whole night, which he had, but decided to go for broke in case they'd be chucked soon. Every round, Roy and Jen reasoned the club was shortly closing, so after every round, Jen dragged Roy out onto the dance floor. At first keeping some kind of rhythm, hers of the feminine hip swaying and his of some ancient Irish genetic compulsion, the two quickly devolved into the pathetic flails of drunk nerds everywhere.

 _Fuck this,_  Jen thought.  _I don't bloody care._

To her secret joy, their arse of a boss Reynholm joined the four of them on the dance floor, despite the looks of disdain and disbelief he received from his other employees. They stuck to their corners, sipping their wine, while Moss swigged an alcopop and Dr. Mendall balanced a vodka martini. 

Jen's drug of choice was tequila, so she and Roy would head to the bar between songs to argue over which was better, tequila or whiskey. They flipped a coin and lost it on the floor. Bending over to retrieve it, Roy was kicked in the head by Moss. Moving to help him, Jen fell on the floor as well, knickers in the air.

They decided it couldn't hurt to alternate between the two, as long as they waited between shots. Both impatient, they didn't wait long. Jen laughed hideously at the bartender, then at Reynholm, then at Roy, who had his hands on her shoulders and was trying to shut her up. She looked to Moss for some indication of what she'd done to upset a man with as base a wit as Roy, but he was blissfully unaware, dancing close to the older doctor, whose name Jen did not know, but who she had overheard looked like Roy's mother. She laughed some more at this like a jackal, hyena, or some other wild dog, and felt Roy entwine his fingers in hers and pull her away from the bar, into the shadows.

 

* * *

 

"You can't  _say_  things like that, you mad woman," Roy said, cupping her face in his hands and grinning. Jen blinked, dizzy, unable to remember what she had said within earshot of their boss, not wanting to know. She felt a chair rise under her and Roy's hands leave her skin. She found what felt like a table, so she folded her arms, laying her head down. She could feel a hand lightly playing with her hair, but the room was spinning so much and the music so loud, that she could very well have been imagining the phantom fingers.

Roy watched as Jen's back rose and fell with each breath. He could see her bra through her white shirt; her red hair had fallen in her face, sticking in a puddle of drink someone had spilled. He caressed the back of her head gently, not daring to wake the sleeping beast, then withdrew his fingers and leaned back against the wall. Rubbing his eyes, he wondered when the dizziness would wear off so he could dance again. You didn't get many excuses as a tall klutz in trainers to dance your arse off without facing ridicule. Okay, sometimes with Moss. 

He wouldn't admit to anyone a lot of the things he did with Moss, and certainly never to Jen. She would often lean in her doorway and watch them working, or avoiding work, and he could feel the disdain radiate from her eyes. He sometimes felt like a lab rat, when she'd attempt to make them over. Women just didn't understand that men didn't want to change. They stayed set in their ways, provided it made them happy. His life wasn't rosy, but he was still young. Wasn't he?

Moss bounded over, grinning like an idiot with arms stiff at his sides, and Roy thought for a second his friend was still sober, the cheeky bastard.

"Roy, you won't believe the things Dr. Mendall says after a few drinks."

Roy shut his eyes and covered his ears. "Lalalalalala. Moss, the last thing I want to think about is my mum...erm, your girlfriend, whispering dirty things. In  _your_  ear, no less."

Moss pulled up a chair, excited as a puppy. "She's brilliant, Roy. Absolutely the most beautiful woman that's ever talked to me. And so intelligent..."

Roy smiled and nodded at his rambling friend. Jen had the right idea. Was she snoring?

"What's wrong with her?"

Roy shrugged. "Too much tequila? Frankly, I'm in the same boat. But Jen's so tiny." Raising his voice an octave, he teased, "Lookit her. Tiny Jen's such a lightweight."

"I heard that," came the feral growl from under the mess of hair. Roy pulled back instinctively but Moss lifted some strands to try and find her face.

"Jen, you're awake. Guess what..."

Jen grabbed his wrist in a death-lock and carefully removed it.  _"Personal. Space."_  

He took his hand back protectively as she sat up and groaned. 

"Are we still at that party?"

"Are you feelin okay?" Roy asked. "You were out like a light."

Strangely, the brief nap had made Jen feel better. At the very least, the sight of Moss peering at her made her crave more alcohol. Roy's unshaven mug looking quizzically at her like she was a puzzle to be solved clinched the decision.

"Boys, I know you're...concerned, but I..." Okay, maybe she shouldn't have stood up so soon. "I have  _a lot_  of experience."

Moss smirked. "That's what Dr. Mendall said." 

Roy pinched his sinuses and tried to block his friend's weedy voice out. Jen continued, ignoring him.

"I once outdrank the rugby captain at uni. True story. Just like..."

"...Marianne in  _Raiders of the Lost Ark,_ " Moss said, his statement barely finished when Jen shot him the look to shut up. 

"She outdrank that Nepalese woman twice her size. Not possible. Couldn't be done. Not that you would ever attempt to outdrink such a character, but in case you were wondering, I think it's a bad idea and could develop several convincing arguments." 

Moss nodded, his good deed of the hour complete, and turned his attention back to the crowd. Jen rolled her eyes at Roy. Meanwhile, the Irishman was thinking that if he was going to bed Jen, he needed to get Moss to go away. This was Moss' fault anyway. Were the three of them together without the doctor, the night would have gone much differently. For one thing, Moss wouldn't have left them alone together.

Dr. Mendall approached their table as if on cue, and Roy was drawn once again to her disconcertingly attractive features. His breath hitched and his pulse quickened, so he slung an arm around Jen, clutching her to him to try and dismiss the incestuous thoughts floating around his brain. 

Jen squirmed away at his touch but the thought crossed her mind that she wouldn't care as much if she only had  _just one more drink._ She rationalized that Roy wasn't a bad guy when he wasn't being as antagonistic as possible, and if she was going to bed him, she had to get Moss and the doctor to go away. It was all their fault anyway. 

She was, to be frank, envious. Of Moss? Inconceivable! But there was no way that boy could pull before  _her!_  It felt like a race to some twisted finish line, so she tried to forget there was any ulterior motive to Roy's touch and to remember she was with friends (sort of), who were just having a nice drink to end a painfully long week.

But there was a peculiar vibe in the vicinity of Dr. Mendall, as though every innocent statement they made could be construed as sexual. Jen had been happy for Moss that he was getting an education in the opposite sex from such an astute teacher, but now it was discomfiting. She got up and headed back to the bar, so Roy followed her, Dr. Mendall peering at them from behind her glasses, analyzing body language and wondering. Biting her lip, she stared after Roy, but Moss did not notice. He did finally see the signals that had been bouncing between his coworkers all night, about two hours too late.

"If that means what I think it means…" 

The doctor gave him a sly smile and leaned into him, her hot breath on his ear. (His cooler one, not the one with the overheating problem.)

"Moss, if you get stuck in the middle of any 'drama,' just tell them they were drunk." 

Moss nodded and bit his tongue before revealing any other Drunk Roy stories, which always entailed the two of them doing something humiliating and stupid. Then again, they managed to do that sober. Instead, he rose and began a geeky, spastic dance, smiling as Dr. Mendall joined in, flush with the pleasure of acting young again.

 

* * *

 

Jen stood at the bar unsteadily and Roy came over, keeping a carefully spaced distance between their bodies.

"Which will it be this time?" he asked. She ordered tequila, but forgot the limes or salt. They counted to three, tossed their heads back, and let the burning liquid warm their throats. Roy made a face while Jen enacted her whole post-tequila pantomime, even though this had been number...many, and certainly didn't warrant another exaggerated reaction, considering their taste buds were well gone at this point.

Jen sighed, swaying into Roy, who caught her. Her eyes shut, she listened to the music and felt his hand on her cheek again. 

The music was slowing down, now, and Jen murmured cutely into his palm, "One more drink." 

This was the perfect moment to kiss her, but Moss bounded over with the doctor, still fairly sober, who smoothly suggested the four of them toast Mr. Reynholm.

 _Reynholm!_  Jen had almost forgotten. She let Roy wrap his arms around her waist, flung out her own and hollered at the blessed man. He had managed to get a few attorneys to humor him after his embarrassing admission earlier that he was fond of the IT crowd, while he grooved to his own tune completely against the DJ's beat. 

Jen beckoned for him to come over, and their boss obliged, nodding professionally if a bit unsteadily to Dr. Mendall, then grabbing the entire IT department in a bear hug. Jen deeply inhaled the smoke and beer on his shirt, Moss could swear he felt a hand grope his bum, and Roy felt like crying again. 

Reynholm got the bartender to relinquish another round to the group, getting the bar staff to help them shoot properly, with salt and lime wedges. Then he led the countdown, and the group downed their shots thirstily, while Moss sipped his, like he always did until Roy corrected him. 

The Irishman nuzzled Jen's hair, scented like the shampoo they'd used earlier. He couldn't imagine why he had thought the girl in a robe was a painful sight. _Were she only in it now!_ The T-shirt tight across her chest, his wrists brushed against her breasts. Her skirt was so short he could reach underneath and no one would even notice.

But Dr. Mendall noticed, and shooting Roy a knowing look, took Reynholm's hand, pulling him out to the dance floor. She laughed melodically as he spun her into Moss' welcoming arms. Reynholm, meanwhile, clutched his beer bottle, the crowd ebbing away (frankly scared of their loose-cannon boss). He crooned a song with an entirely different melody from the one bursting from the speakers. Roy embraced Jen and they slow danced awkwardly, stepping on each other's feet, his face buried in her neck as she hugged him tight.

 

* * *

 

In the bathroom, Dr. Mendall had to help Jen so she wouldn't fall.

"Are you alright?" she asked. 

The girl looked a bit green. Leaning heavily on the sink-top and taking deep breaths, she smiled faintly at the doctor.

"I'm fine. Thank you so much. I..." She laughed. "I seem to have had too much to drink." 

This came out as, "Isheemtohavadtoomchtdrnk," but the doctor got the message, and figuring Jen could keep upright for a minute, went into a stall. 

Jen stumbled into her own stall and sat down. Afraid she'd fall into the toilet and be flushed away, she bent double, holding onto her feet and staring at the cracks in the floor. They kept moving. And she was like a bloody camel! How much liquid could one body hold?

Finishing up, red filled Jen's vision and the events of the day returned to her memory in full force. Dr. Mendall may be no help, and Jen was too mortified to ask in the first place. She tightly wrapped some bathroom tissue around her undergarments like a haphazard bandage and hoped she'd be going home soon.

Exiting the stall, Jen found the doctor touching up her makeup at the sink. She smiled shakily and waved her hands repeatedly under the tap.

"Why doesn't this bloody thing work?" she asked, so Dr. Mendall turned the right handle and Jen nodded in an exaggerated fashion. 

"Ohhhh," she said, before laughing discordantly. She mumbled more incoherencies and headed for the door, so the doctor held it open for the younger woman so she could stumble back into the club.

And into the arms of Moss.

"Moss, what're you doin, are we leavin?" Her eyes widened and she kept cutting off Moss as he opened his mouth to speak. 

"Did Roy leave without me?" 

_He couldn't have!_

She tugged at Moss' shirt and rambled, sounding screechy, "Where's my purse and my gum? You have gum? No, no, no, what about another drink? Where'd Mr. Reynholm go? What a mad man, he'll get me a drink. Is that him leaving now? Mr. Reynholm! REYNHOLM! Oh bloody hell, what?"

Moss just looked at her like she was mad and shook her by the shoulders. 

_People kept bloody doing that._

"Roy's gone."

Jen looked puzzled. This could not be; it did not compute. Maybe it had something to do with right before she'd gone to the toilet...

 

* * *

 

They were slow-dancing and then they were kissing, as unceremoniously as that. 

It was hazy, but Jen was pretty sure she knew what lips felt like, so she parted her own to taste him. He had thick, wet ones she'd caught herself staring at all night, or at least since the first drink.

Roy could only taste the sharp tang of tequila, but the warm body he held in his arms more than made up for it. 

 _Finally!_  He held her hand when they parted, breathing heavier, and dragged her into a corner where some slumbering coworkers of theirs had slumped over a table. Roy didn't waste any time at all, snogging her sloppily and reaching under her skirt while she was distracted by his lips, trying not to make it obvious to the other guests. Instead of a slap or kick to the groin, he felt her respond, rubbing herself up against his hand. She was wet.  _Really_  wet. Then he remembered the reason. 

 _Aunt Irma!_  Was falling to Communism really worth it? Their arguments weren't  _that_  good.

But the little sighs and moans of pleasure she was making made him hard, and he was reluctant to let her go when she squirmed away and mumbled that she'd be right back, she had to go to the toilet, then she'd be right back, she promised.

Oh God, Roy needed a cigarette. Except he didn't smoke.  _Oh God, oh God, some fresh air._  He told Moss he'd be right back, but Moss was off in his own little world and didn't hear him. Roy stepped outside and bummed a cigarette off a departing coworker. Luckily, the man was too drunk to realize who was asking him for one, and even lit him up. Roy thanked him and leaned back against the wall, not even caring if anyone saw him aroused in the lamplight.  _What a fucking day!_

Dr. Mendall joined him and lit up her own. In this light she didn't look like his mother, not quite, maybe, okay she did, but she was beautiful and her eyes sparkled from behind her glasses. She gave him a predatory look. _Was she still sober?_

Blowing smoke out her nose, she asked, "What's a boy like you doing out here all alone?"

Roy was speechless. Next thing he knew, they were laughing over a dirty joke, she was telling him he was naughty and he needed a "time out." Maybe not that exact phrasing. He asked her where Moss was; she wasn't certain. She thought he was taking care of Jen, and lied that she'd seen Jen throwing up. Roy sighed. 

 _Goddamit, Jen._  He was so close, too. But so was the doctor...

 

* * *

 

Inside, Moss got Jen a glass of water from the bartender and noticed Mr. Reynholm chatting up a man in black who had just entered. Reynholm stopped the bouncer from chucking him, wrapping an arm around the man and steering him to a secluded corner. Jen, meanwhile, actually  _was_  dry heaving in the bathroom and crying. 

"Where  _is_  that arsehole?"

Moss ignored the ladies, not that there were any who would protest by this time of night, and entered the stall to hold back a kneeling Jen's hair as she threw up dinner.

"I don't remember eating that," she groaned. 

Moss just rubbed her back and told her she'd be fine. They'd get a taxi back to her flat and he'd put her to bed. But he had to find Dr. Mendall first.

She was gone. He asked around, not daring ask Reynholm. He and the shadowy man looked far too… _intimate._  Best not to push his luck. All anyone said was they'd seen her get into a cab. Moss felt hurt and confused, but Jen was hurting more. Roy was nowhere to be found, either, so off they went, leaving behind an atrocious mess for the nightclub's cleaners in the morning.

At her apartment, Jen collapsed onto her bed fully clothed, so Moss sat down and pulled her feet into his lap, taking off her shoes. Her feet were blistered and red from the night of dancing, despite the downy pampering he'd given them earlier, and Moss rubbed them, like any friend would, until she sighed with pleasure and pulled the pillows around herself. 

Moss lay down beside her and stared. He'd never seen Jen drunk before, and since he and Dr. Mendall hadn't had nearly as much to drink as his two workmates, he tipsily stared in concern and awe. He'd seen Roy inhaling Jen's hair like she was an oxygen tank, so he gave an experimental whiff and the scent of flowers, underneath the smoke and beer, emanated from her locks. Moss cuddled up next to her, amazed by the day he'd had, not expecting her to wrap her leg around him and pull him close. 

He was hard in seconds.

 

* * *

 

Dr. Mendall was fascinating, Roy had to admit, and she said some incredible things on the ride back to her flat that, along with the alcohol, compelled him to tell her the dirtiest, most shameful fantasies he'd harbored since youth. She just smiled and invited him in for coffee, to "sober him up" she said, but as soon as they entered the door, she pinned him to the wall in a fierce kiss that made him stand at attention, then turned him around to greet his arse with a smack, murmuring in his ear that he needed a spanking. 

_This was the best fucking night of his life!_

Jen was not so lucky. She spent Saturday trying to shrug off Moss, explaining at length that they were just friends, and taking his virginity had not been her intent, and where the bloody hell was Roy, that bastard, this was all his fault for getting her drunk! Moss tried to take this disappointing news in stride, but it was extremely difficult at first, since Jen was beautiful and he loved her and they were clearly meant to be. 

But it wasn't long before he could see Coworker Jen emerge again, that crazy harpy of a woman that drove him and Roy mad.

 

* * *

  
  
Roy took fifty showers on Saturday. He'd shagged his mum, essentially, and that was just plain inexcusable in polite society. The psychiatrist was kinky, there was no doubt, but the woman for Moss she was not. Who would take advantage of a poor, confused young Irishman pissed on ten tequilas to get into the pants of the wrong girl? Jen had only let him get her pissed if he'd do it along with her, as opposed to his usual strategy of remaining sober in order to best take advantage of an unethical situation. This was all Jen's fault for getting him drunk, and he faced the consequences. He was going to Hell, for sure.  
  
But indeed, Monday was far worse than the weekend, because Jen, Moss, and Roy had to sit in relative silence while awkwardly processing their feelings about the event. Jen had the luxury of shutting herself up in her office, but the men had to face each other's betrayal in person. And with Project Icarus completed, there was no task to focus on. Normally the two would play silly games together and pretend to work if anyone with authority entered their basement office, but their friendship was strained to the point of breaking. Having never dared miss a day of punching-in since they'd taken the jobs, rent in London being impossible as it was, the two could not skip out and play hooky. Besides, if they'd left and there'd been an emergency with the new computer system, there'd be no one there to save Mr. Reynholm's arse, and consequently would be no one to pay them.  
  
Two weeks later, Jen started leaving her office door open and bantering like usual with her coworkers. The boys made up that weekend and watched a movie together, reconciling in the agreement they would never speak of the Thank You party or Aunt Irma or Dr. Mendall ever again. Work-related and social hijinks resumed, and the trio gradually coalesced back into the tight unit they'd become before the party.   
  
Meanwhile, the man in black, whom Moss had seen canoodling with Reynholm, was none other than their resident goth Richmond, whose complicated history as Reynholm's protege held oodles of unresolved tension, sexual or not. The two men had been horrified by the strange coupling, or at least at its out-of-the-blue nature.   
  
Anyone at the party would not have been, though, considering Reynholm was the most piss drunk they'd ever seen him in all their years of working for him.   
  
Unfortunately, neither sex nor drink could subdue his psychotic behavior, so they would be joined by a new crazy boss soon enough...


End file.
